


restrict roving feet

by jasondont (minigami)



Series: dishonored au [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dishonored Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, marked jango, overseer obi-wan, witch obi-wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minigami/pseuds/jasondont
Summary: "Restrict roving feet that love to trespass," begins the Fourth Stricture. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan was never a very good Overseer.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: dishonored au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153571
Comments: 5
Kudos: 128
Collections: Reto Halloween 2020 fandomium





	restrict roving feet

**Author's Note:**

> the dishonored jangobi au nobody asked for

When he wakes up, there are crows on his windowsill.

This is not an uncommon occurrence. Obi-Wan heeds the call of the bells, drags himself out of his bed, and approaches the window. The birds scatter without a sound, disappearing into Dunwall’s black early morning sky like so many ghosts.   
If he were a superstitious man, Obi-Wan would think they’re an omen, a warning, the world telling him of things to come. But he is not.

He had black dreams last night. He saw the city from up above and tasted blood and carrion on his tongue, and he laughed like he knows he hasn’t laughed in years and years.

The crows are not an omen, but they may become his death warrant. Obi-Wan turns his back on them and reminds himself to keep his gun closer. 

*

He knows he was taken younger than most. He’s forgotten his parents' faces, but he remembers the trip to Whitecliff, the days and nights he spent there, the caws of the seagulls and the taste of his own tears. It was cold, and it was dark, and sometimes, when he sleeps, he still has nightmares of the days they spent there. He survived, but many did not.

He’s learned to not think about it, but he can’t help but wonder. Did they know what he was, what he could do, when he was taken? 

Was that the reason?

*

He washes and dresses and then goes down to the courtyard and listens to the homily. He joins the chants and nods in the proper places, and then he joins his men at the breakfast table in the refectory. The food is as bland as usual, but that alone is surprising--the plague, the political unrest, the murders, and life inside the barracks goes on as if nothing had changed. 

He spends most of the day in the Order’s headquarters, sitting behind a desk, reviewing intelligence reports and signing requisition forms and dealing with all the petty bureaucrats that seem to be the life and blood of every successful organisation.   
After latemeal he meets with his sergeants and organizes the night’s watch, the guard rounds, the search itinerary.

“Fett is a dangerous man,” he tells them, “but he’s just a man.”  
They nod--they trust him, even if they don’t really believe him.  
“Do not wander off alone. If you see him, do not engage. Call for help and wait for reinforcements.”  
They nod again. Reef shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and Obi-Wan knows what he’s thinking.  
People say that Fett is no longer a man. That he’s Void-touched. They call him the Wolf and say that he cannot die and that the Outsider looks from his eyes. 

From a prince of Morley to a traitor to a monster. It has a certain charm--it’s a good story. It will live on after his death. 

“Any questions?” asks Obi-Wan. He waits for a beat--his men keep silent, their eyes scared behind their masks. “Very well. Let us go, then.”

* 

His men lose him in one of the flooded districts, the distinct white façade of the Rudshore bank buildings almost shining in the murky darkness. It stinks of sewage, of brine and rotting algae and dead bodies. Rats swarm behind walled-off doors, their little red eyes shining in the darkness.  
Their job is making sure the place is as empty as it was declared when the Guard evacuated and closed off the area, weeks ago, and they spread out on cautious feet. 

It takes half a thought--Obi-Wan blinks his eyes closed, wills himself invisible, and then follows the tugging in his heart.

*

He doesn’t see him coming--he never does. 

When he first found him he was half-mad, half-dead, half-starved--and he still took Obi-Wan by surprise. He’s asked, again and again, what made Fett stay his hand, but the man won’t tell him.  
By now, Obi-Wan’s beginning to believe he never will. He may not know.

The crows are already there when he arrives. There’s one in the old, dirty chandelier that has partly crashed through the wooden floor, and he can hear the rest of the murder cawing and squawking and shuffling in the upper floors.  
He can sense them--he tastes rotting meat on the back of his tongue, sweet and heady, and their bird-thoughts fill his head, sharp and fast, like poison or a well-sharpened knife.   
They’re happy to see him.

Obi-Wan hears the floorboards creak. When he turns around, Fett’s already there. 

He looks healthier--his wounds must have finally healed. He has a long thin knife in one hand, an ugly gun in the other, and he’s barefooted and bare-chested despite the cold.  
“You’re back,” he says. He keeps his feelings out of his face, but that’s never worked on Obi-Wan--he can feel his shock, his suspicion, his cautious elation.  
He’s happy to see Obi-Wan, and he hates that he is. It’d be charming, if not for the knife and the gun and his too sharp teeth--or maybe, it is charming precisely because of that.

Obi-Wan takes off his mask. The loss of the familiar weight makes him feel strangely vulnerable and out of his depth, and the sensation of the murky, dense air against his face is distracting. He breathes in, greedy, tries to fill his lungs, and Fett smiles, something small and crooked.  
“I told you I’d be,” he answers, and Fett snorts, full of put-on disdain. He holsters his gun, puts his knife back in its scabbard.   
The Outsider’s Mark is like a black hole--it makes his head hurt, but Obi-Wan’s eyes keep drifting towards it, like a compass needle pointing north.  
“Did I wake you up?” Obi-Wan asks. Fett doesn’t answer, but when he turns around and starts walking, Obi-Wan follows him. His heartbeat is so loud and fast he’s sure Fett can hear it.

He takes Obi-Wan to what once must be someone else’s office. There’s a cot under the window.  
The sill is full of birds.

Fett’s face, when he sees them, makes Obi-Wan laugh; he’s still laughing when Fett gets his cold left hand under his uniform--he tries to kiss it off his mouth.

*

Afterwards, they doze, crammed together on the narrow bed. 

The crows wake him up, and Obi-Wan jumps from the cot, his hands looking for his gun, his sword--Fett’s faster.

He blinks from existence. He’s there, and then he’s not, and when Obi-Wan finds him, seconds later, Fett’s already wiping down his knife. The crows’ cawing is deafening, but Obi-Wan thinks he can hear his man’s death rattle, the slow drip-drip-drip of blood against the floorboards. The swollen wood soaks it up, like some kind of thirsty, living thing.

Obi-Wan told them to stay together.

They dump the body close by, and then he leaves. As always, he tells Fett he’ll be back--and, as always, Fett acts as if he doesn’t believe him.

*

When he gets back to his room, tired and dirty and cold to the bone, his windowsill is empty. 

It won’t stay that way, so Obi-Wan takes off his uniform and grabs his gun and lies down on his narrow bed and turns out the light.  
Falling asleep is like tumbling down a flight of stairs--Obi-wan closes his eyes and falls. He dreams of black wings and cold hands and far-off blue lights.

When he wakes up, there are crows on his windowsill.


End file.
